Love Thyself
by yllimilly
Summary: Too fast, too early; it was over before it even began. Geminishipping TKBxYamiBakura, AU, genderbent, femslash, Fight Club inspired. Written for contest.


**LONG ASS AUTHOR'S NOTE**

So here I am, trying to mirror two completely different canons at once (YuGiOh and Fight Club, but barely, I really can't call this a crossover) in an AU so ridiculously remote from either that some OOCness is pretty much inevitable. Especially since pretty much the whole cast is genderbent. So yes, this would count as femslash.

(written for contest, prompt: _pairing Thief King Bakura x Yami Bakura_).

Because I tried to follow Chuck Palahniuk's formatting you'll have to adjust your browser so that the story below doesn't come across all wall-of-texty. For ideal reading, your browser should be exactly as narrow as the following line:

"Hmm," all she does is moaning while she slides pink fish slices between her lips

Tags and warnings and all that: I don't own YuGiOh, I don't own Fight Club, character death, sexuality, language, first person POV, AU, genderbending, drug use, violence, sex work, enjoy.

_~special thanks to sefina for her guidance~_

* * *

**Love Thyself**

So I'm just done hauling the garbage out the backdoor when I see someone standing where I normally do.  
Not a good sign in any way, because except for staff no one's allowed in the back of the house except for food inspectors and cops, and that chick doesn't look like she gives a fuck about the rats feeding off the expired shit we keep in the pantry.  
I say _who the fuck are you_ except I don't.  
Then I think _what the fuck are you doing here_ except that unless she's after me I really don't give a damn what business she has here.  
So.  
She's munching on a plain tortilla.  
She's tall and wiry and he clothing says MUSCLE all over so it makes sense that she's a cop.  
One of those really nasty types who enjoy doing the dirty work.  
At least that's what the smirk on her face is telling me.  
I'm not trying to run away or anything.  
I'm not even worrying that it's kind of strange no one seems to care - usually Ped's kind of sharp about making sure no funny business happens in the restaurant after hours, he has more than his job hanging on the line because he's like me, I don't have a green card.  
"What do you want," I sort of ask.  
I try to be civil when I can.  
That chick ain't done nothing to me so far.  
"Been coming here a lot and I see what you're doing. I like it."  
It doesn't make sense cause all I do is wash dishes.  
Maybe she likes her dishes clean.  
I'm tired.  
I'm tired and I shouldn't have gotten high yesterday, even if it was just a little.  
"I know it sounds weird, but I'm here to eat. I do this all the time, everywhere."  
"Do what."  
I'm topping that with a frown.  
Got better things to do than listen to whoever rambling about whatever.  
"I haven't paid for food in over a year. I just walk in any restaurant and head for the kitchen and the staff lets me in. No one gives a damn. It's a matter of timing really."  
_Oh_, I say.  
Well fuck, she's _right_.  
No one here _ain't_ giving a damn.  
Sally's upstairs doing accounting.  
It's just Ped and I down here.  
He's mopping the front of the house, I'm clearing the back, picking up after the cooks' garbage.  
I wonder how she got in.  
"You're wondering how I got here."  
"Well yeah."  
Not usually that honest but I don't got nothing to lose.  
"You're thinking how fucking ballsy I am."  
She's wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.  
How she can eat tortillas with a body like hers I don't know, there's not an ounce of body fat on those thighs.  
"Don't flatter yourself."  
Sally says that all the time, I picked that up from her.  
I fucking hate Sally.  
I fucking hate tortillas.  
That chick's tits are kind of nice, though. I like her tits.

"So what's your name?"  
We're at a Greek place now, and we've just had (frozen) pizza (dough) and kebabs before that, and I still don't know her name.  
I don't normally ask for names, cause I don't like to give out mine.  
It's just safer that way.  
I don't have a green card. I don't exist.  
"I don't have a name," she says just to fuck with me.  
That's maybe taking things too far, I think. I'd tell her to fuck off if I didn't have my full of breaded calamari. Screw calories, I'll do more laps tomorrow.  
"What if I don't believe that" I say and I really shouldn't try to be as snarky as she is because it's failing. What I'm good at is a fist in the face, but that would be uncalled for right now.  
"Then don't believe me. I'm in the mood for sushi."

We're in a cheap sushi shack near the uni and I only dislike it because it's not my part of town, otherwise it's pretty fucking awesome.  
Never had sushi before.  
Didn't what it tasted like until a pound of MAGURO ago.  
"Hmm," all she does is moaning while she slides pink fish slices between her lips and that gets me a little wet in the panty area.  
It's TMI but hey, you're the one inside my head, you asked for it.  
"I don't get it, you're not fat one bit. I mean even if you only ate once a day it's still a lot, I've never seen anyone eat like you do."  
She licks her finger and sits up on the deep freezer.  
"That's the most you've been saying all night" she just says.  
I wait for a smart comeback to hit me as I dig up inside a giant bag labelled SHREDDED NORI COMBO A+B. I like that stuff, it's crispy at first and then it sort of melts on my tongue.  
"I'm thirsty" I say because first of all it's true, second of all I'm not a talker, she has a point, there's no use trying to disprove that.  
Me, I'm more of a hit-first, ask-questions-later-type-of-person is what I am, talking it out don't do nothing for me. So I suck it up and work, work, work, because I can't exactly put up a fuss while I'm here, there's nothing for me back in K.E.  
"Aw, you're butt hurt."  
She's smirking.  
I frown at her that is what I do.  
And then I glare at her.  
_Not_ at her tits.  
"You can keep checking me out if you want to, though."  
She's not even looking at me; she's scooping out little orange balls from a styrofoam container straight to her mouth, and that's just hot.  
Okay, maybe I will, since you explicitly gave me permission.  
Stupid to get my hopes up, though.  
So.  
"I've got to go."  
Not that I've got some place to go, really.  
These days I'm shacking up with a lady who calls herself Tia Juana, she takes all kinds of parasites like me under her wing, and she's so full of pretty and good and nice inside that she can put up with all kinds of ugly and bad and wrong. Like me.  
And she doesn't ask questions.  
Like the white-haired chick in front of me.  
"I'm not keeping you."  
Why the fuck did you drag me here, then?  
Oops, I said that out loud.  
"You just looked pathetic. That's all" is what she says but she doesn't really look like she means it, she looks like she means something else.  
I'm not pathetic. I just keep myself in check.  
No point lashing out at anyone and everyone in this time and place, they don't have nothing to do with anything.  
"Dragging other people's garbage around, whistling to yourself. You're not even getting minimum wage, are you."  
Like I said I've gotten _really good_ at keeping myself in check, I've gotten it down to a science, but sometimes the digits just don't add up.  
I slam the bag-o-nori on the deep freezer next to where she is sitting.  
It came off as anti-climatic to me, so she can't be too impressed, either.  
She isn't.  
"You don't know me, so don't act like you do."  
That wasn't me trying to impress her, just getting the facts straight.  
"You just look like you need some fun, I thought I could help you with that."  
Never been much of a _fun_ person.  
Seeing your parents murdered and raped isn't _fun_. Slutting your way out of a civil war isn't _fun_.  
Still it looks kind of cool, breaking in restaurants like you owned the place, eating the best stuff in town, leaving without paying, doing it over again the next day, and the next day, and the day after that.  
That's kind of 'the dream life' if you ask me.  
She's licking off the container now, ignoring me completely.  
I, on the other hand, am sure _not _ignoring the way her fingers slide inside her mouth, slick with saliva, squeaky clean by the time they're out.  
My heart is pumping hard in strange places.

I'm a lesbian, in case you hadn't noticed.

We're in a back alley cause she said she'd like me to meet people, and it seemed completely legit to me at the time if it meant I could keep close to those damn fingers.  
They all look like hookers.  
All of them.  
Even she could pass as one right now, for some reason.  
Maybe she's one of those dominatrix types, cracking leather whips at fat ass CEOs. I don't want to know what she does in her free time.  
They all look at me like I'm an alien.  
I'm wearing a boyish t-shirt that's hiding what little curves I have, closed toed shoes and dirty shorts, hair cut short cause it's easier that way.  
They're trying not to stare at my disfigured face (long story, don't ask), by now I can tell that they know that there's no way I'm one of them.  
"Who you work for?" and "I can fix your hair if you want" and "Who the fuck are you, what are doing here" is how they greet me.  
They think I'm a cop.  
Do I look like one?  
Well maybe.  
I'm well built, I lift weights (bricks and metal rods but you don't need fancy equipment to get ripped). I'm pretty tall, too.  
Bottom line is I could've been a cop, if fate hadn't decided to shit on my face from the get go.  
"I'm not a cop."  
I didn't say that, cause that's what cops say. I say "Hey" and shove my hands down in my pockets.  
They ask me if I want 'some'.  
Tricky question.  
My - friend? Theft-buddy? She didn't wait, she's having 'some' with a tiny girl with long white hair.  
Nah, I quit that shit a month ago. Still get flashbacks and shit out of it but that's a kind of messing-with-my-brain I can get behind.  
Yesterday I was feeling like shit so I did have a little but that doesn't count, I'm in control, I can quit whenever I want to.  
I can sense these girls are angry as fuck, too.  
Not gonna ask why.  
Cause I just _know_.  
So I don't ask what this is, it's probably some kind of solidarity thing, taking a break between clients. I don't ask.  
They don't ask me my name.  
Stephanie (the tall one, short brown hair, broad shoulders, Adam's apple and all) tells me to my face she doesn't like me. I don't look in the thief's direction, I can hold out my own.  
I say "Suit yourself."  
Ms East Germany Swim Team Captain gives me that look.  
I say something about her mullet.  
She tells me nicely to get the eff out of her turf, and what she's going to do if I don't.  
Not gonna quote her verbatim, children could be reading this.  
Bakura's giggling with the anemic girl and I sort of envy them. They look close. I want to be their friend, too.  
Meanwhile the mullet and I are having a staring contest.  
Not planning on losing anytime soon.  
Someone walks in the alley and the footsteps don't sound like coincidence.  
Shit.  
I'm already looking for a blunt object that won't give me hepatitis.  
The girls step back, line up against the wall, and when the guy walks past them everything is silent except for the sound of back alley filth crunching under expensive shoes.  
New Hot Chick stays where she is and the guy grabs the tiny girl's arm, swinging her around like a limp doll.  
I join the girls, although the guy doesn't look like he's even noticed me, and just wait and watch.  
There's cussing and hitting and it's not pretty. He's sort of easy on her, careful not to ruin her clothes cause he's paying for them, I can tell cause I know, I've been there.  
They're all the same.  
Everyone of them a calculating motherfucker cause they deal with clients who don't care for bruises so long as they're not too visible.  
He's so focused in his demonstration of discipline that he doesn't give Stealth Kitchen Invader Chick the time of the day when she shouts at him.  
The pimp turns to me and I can't help but look for the girls - they're scurrying away in their crystal heels and leather corsets, even the trans.  
I say leave her alone, motherfucker. I don't know why I said it, I don't even know 'Sara', maybe she's asked for it, but everything about her screams VICTIM.  
That's good enough reason for me to have her back.  
I step in closer, looking at him in the eye. He looks like a certain high ranking official I've had to deal with and I don't like it one bit, I don't like to think about that time of my life.  
Next thing I know I am  
Pissed.  
Off.  
From the corner of my eye I can see the criminally young looking girl holding herself against the wall not to ruin her little blue dress, but she still falls to her knees when he lets go of her arm.  
The guy wants to say something back and I can't hear him.  
My blood is boiling.  
I literally can't see a thing.  
Then my improvised partner-in-crime smacks him on the head with a brick I wished I saw first.  
Asshole isn't as tough as he looks.  
Well well.  
We're both kicking away at his ribs like he's a metronome, every crack a week's worth of sick leave, so to speak.  
Don't know what low life pimps do in their free time.  
Not planning on knowing.  
Damn well hoping it's painful as hell.  
I pause to look at the battered baby doll.  
There's dark spots are swelling on her legs.  
Maybe they were there to start with, I hadn't paid attention.  
I tell her to run for her life.  
She shakes her head like there's no tomorrow.  
Gotta be loyal to her master.  
Well fuck, I'm gonna have to beat him even harder now.  
He's coughing up teeth.  
I put my beating on hold to appreciate the view and he manages to say, mumble, _I'll get you bitch_ and _I've seen your face_ and _I know some cops_.  
Well tough luck, next thing I'm hearing a siren and I give one last look at the mysterious hot stranger freegan chick in front of me and she just stays there.  
I want to tell _her_ to run, too, but she's faster, she cuts me off to tell me she'll 'find me'. To me that sounds very much like 'run you idiot' and I do just that, I just so happen to be quite skilled at that.

So Sally didn't threaten to turn me over today for staring too much at her cleavage.  
Not that I take her seriously anymore.  
I'm pretty concerned about my new friend (who am I kidding, friends, no, I don't do friends) being inside, though.  
Don't wanna imagine what they'd do to her.  
She'd probably hold up her own.  
She has this alpha female vibe to her that keeps the doctor away.  
That didn't make sense.  
I'm not making sense today; I feel like I'm reeling from a high, like a good high, but as far as I know Ali's Shawarma wouldn't mix shit in their garlic sauce.  
Ah, garlic breath.  
Gotta get rid of that before my shift ends.  
So, okay, let's get rational here.  
She's probably not inside. I'm sure she found a way. Those cops, they probably were a coincidence. That guy could've been bluffing for all I know; that's what pimps do best.  
I'm still kind of pissed for some reason. All day I've been replaying, inside my head, the 'event' I've had with the pimp's look alike, back in K.E., and I feel so on edge I could cut something with my breath.  
One of the line cooks tried petting my ass today. That didn't help.  
I sprayed him with my hose.  
Said it was an accident.  
You can't just start kicking a guy in the ribs in the middle of a commercial kitchen, there are other people working, honest, good people just trying to do their job. People like Ped.  
I'm all riled up.  
Jittery.  
I want to stop soaping cratefuls of dirty dishes and do push-ups, sit-ups, chin-ups.  
I want to punch the air and run.  
I've already made a list of all the places I want to loot tonight.  
Assuming 'tonight' is when she'll 'find me'.  
I wanna make sure that Sara chick is doing okay.  
And I damn hope that thief isn't also a liar, because I'm horny as hell.

"Do you touch yourself?"  
I give her wat-face.  
Not the kind of greeting I'm used to, not that I'm complaining.  
The door to the back alley closes with a muffled thump behind me.  
I wonder how she gets in without us noticing.  
Maybe Ped has something to do with that, maybe he's seen me sulking or thinks I need to get laid or something. Not gonna ask a fifty year old man whether or not he's trying to indirectly facilitate my sex life, that's kind of awkward.  
"Not really into that kind of thing, no."  
When you've had baldy bureaucrats asking you to do it in front of them in exchange for a single entry visa, the act loses its appeal.  
Don't call me a victim, I don't need to hear that crap.  
"Hm."  
Apparently she had a craving for churros tonight, it's one of those long, thin donut thingies.  
Never been afraid of a churro before but stupidly I conclude that holding penis-shaped pastry makes a woman straight.  
I want to tell her where the microwave is but I just stand there awkwardly. She's nibbling at the tip of the thing, crumbs sticking around her mouth.  
It's effing hot in here. The apron has to go.  
So I'm down to a tank top now.  
Um.  
I'm sort of hoping she'll notice the white snake crawling up from my elbow to my shoulder.  
I scoot over the sink next to her and I wash my hands, not knowing where to wipe them.  
Anything I touch in this room is likely to make them dirty.  
I work here 80 hours a week, I should know.  
She looks at me.  
More like she's _studying_ me.  
I feel my cheeks flush when her stare grazes against my arm.  
"Nice tattoo," she says, putting a lukewarm churro in my idle hands.  
I lean against the edge of the sink right next to her.  
Our hips are touching comfortably.  
She makes all kinds of little slurpy sounds when she licks her fingers.  
Normally that would be bad manners but I care very little about manners right now.  
Straining my ears just to listen to it.  
She turns to me.  
Our faces are inches close.  
She gives me a look.  
Gotta admit, I wasn't very subtle.  
My hands are still wet, I'm holding a churro, there's this hot chick standing next to me and I- and you know what?  
Thinking is overrated.  
I'm grabbing her wrist.  
Not to hurt her.  
Just to get those fingers near my mouth.  
She must be a mind reader of some kind.  
Her fingertips are tapping lightly against my lips.  
I didn't know I was ticklish there.  
"Nice tattoo."  
Her voice is raw and low.  
That does it.  
Her fingers are inside my mouth, sweet and sticky against my tongue. I can feel her fingernails against my soft palate, but barely.  
_yes oh please yes_  
Really I don't want to be saying this but she _does_ taste of cinnamon and sugar, I  
Must.  
Have.  
Every bit of it.  
I don't know why this feels so important right now and I don't know what I'm doing, I don't even _know_ this girl.  
Don't know nothing about her high cheekbones, her wild matte white hair, the shadows that dance about her collarbones, I don't know that hand crawling down my belly, those fingers playing with the hem of my pants.  
Oh fuck.  
This-  
Yes.  
No.  
I _don't_ want her to but I _want_ her to.  
Her fingers slip out of my mouth and mine reach for her hips, shaking.  
Her buttocks are round and soft and firm under my palm.  
Her fingers are teasing my downside, playing with my curls.  
"I've always had a thing for athletic women."  
Oh how I love that voice, when it isn't mocking me.  
Even when it's mocking me.  
She slides inside me and I feel warm everywhere, not like a fire but like a giant tide turning me over, I am numb, a peaceful death.

I've lost track of the days of the week.  
But I remember her.

It's been over a week now.

I feel sort of bad for Tia Juana.  
She's made of saints and unicorns, which is good for me, but she's also made of worry, which is bad for her.  
Pretty sure she doesn't want to hear how close I've come to being sacked today.  
Again.  
Or how many plates are being deducted from my pay right now.  
She'd understand, though.  
I mean it's hard not to get drowsy when you spend the better portion of the night roaming back alleys, creeping up closed restaurants looking for the queen of culinary thieves.  
I look at the neon sign glowing across the street.  
She wouldn't be in there. I don't think she'd bother with Donatello's again.  
The sushi place is closed for renovations.  
I turn my heel and decide against going 'home' to Tia Juana's promised hot chocolate. I know she's trying to keep me off the streets, bribing me with hot drinks has worked for a while with me but I'm sort of hooked up on a different flavor now. Unless it's cinnamon it's not just gonna do the trick anymore.  
Actually no.  
I take that back.  
I'd rather _not_ have anything to do with cinnamon right now.  
It was better, I mean _life was easier,_ when I had no purpose.  
Now I'm just lovesick and a loser.  
I'm pissed at everyone and no one but myself.  
She didn't even ask my name.  
There's a tall vitrine in front of me.  
For a split second I think I'm seeing _her_ in it.  
But that's just me.  
I don't look half as good as she does, even though we don't look too different when you think about it.

I wonder what I'd look like without the scar.

I don't know if I should call them 'her friends', because they're not acting friendly at all towards me. I don't get what the big deal is, it's not like I was going to beat them up, I have standards.  
They're quite a mismatched bunch, and the only explanation why I hadn't noticed that one's colorful hairdo is that I was too fixated on what was going to become the prima donna to my dirty thoughts, or annoyed by alpha male-turned-female Stephanie, to notice at the time.  
Speaking of which.  
The obvious leader of the pack narrows her eyes.  
I glare back.  
I'm not wanted here.  
She says anything snarky, I'll bite. Tonight I'm on edge.  
Didn't even realize where I was going until my footsteps took me here. I feel blood pumping at my temples.  
If they don't lead me to her I don't know what I'll do.  
I'm sick _sick_ **_sick_** of her hiding.  
The meek one emerges from the group.  
She looks for something in her purse.  
I can't help but notice, with relief, that she's only got old bruises on her legs. I immediately switch to looking for fresh ones on her arms.  
She has a little bag of the stuff in the palm of her hand, pushing it toward me.  
I frown.  
"Sorry, I'm dead broke."  
The 'not touching that shit' excuse never works out too well with addicts.  
Like, I should know.  
"But I just want to thank you."  
It's weird but, now that it's a gift from the little broken doll (that's how I refer to her in my head), the stuff becomes somewhat more palatable.  
Gotta stay strong.  
"I'm looking for someone."  
Deflection.  
I make a move to push her arm away but then I think better of it.  
Shouldn't have.  
She closes in.  
Studies me for a little while.  
It gets me nervous; I don't like being stared at.  
Little Sara ain't my type, but she's female and pretty and that's not helping.  
Gets me even more nervous.  
Over there the group is already gone, laughing too hard, too high.  
"I know who you're looking for," she begins.  
She speaks strange but that's beside the point, I'm willing to interpret anything as 'that thing I want to hear', and right now I just want someone to tell me where my churro love-making chick is.  
"She's... supposed to be coming tonight. Soon. It would really mean a lot to me if you took it. Please."  
I am not at all bothered by the non-sequitur, and by the little fist pressed against my chest.  
I pry her fingers open and accept her gift.  
She gets her own little stash from who knows where and soon I'm standing where my hot chick was the other day, next to that same rock she'd used to knock the shit out of that pimp.

Old habits die hard. This time it doesn't feel like I've been off the stuff for the better part of a month.  
Tonight I'm seeing pyramids.  
And fire.  
I feel like stabbing things. People. Whatever.  
It all seems so funny to me.  
Sara's pupils swallow me in like black holes, anchoring me to the land of real and boring for a while, then I drift again and I like it.  
Everything is swirling but I'm sentient enough to know I won't lose my balance if I can only hold still, the cold brick wall feels so reassuring.  
The little broken dolls and I are giggling like idiots.  
Then I remember that I'm mad.  
Or rather, I realize that I'm mad at the thief.  
"She stole my heart."  
"I know, I know."  
Sara says it off handedly.  
Like we were childhood friends.  
Then I see _her_ stalking down the alley.  
Colors dance in my line of vision when she calls me name.  
"Bakura."  
Nothing and everything makes sense.  
I'm seeing red and golden.  
The wall wobbles away from my as I stumble to 'her'.  
Everything is swirling.  
No_ I'm_ swirling, and everything is still.  
"Are you alright?"  
Sara's arm is around my shoulders, keeping me steady.  
The ground wants to kiss me.  
"Yes."  
Whatever comes out of my mouth sounds nothing like that.  
She asks me if I'm alright again.  
I try to smile.  
She is closing in. She looks different. Dark and angry. Not playful, not snarky.  
I turn to Sara and the timid blue rings around her ink black pupils.  
"I'm alright now, sweetie."  
"Are you sure?"  
"Yeah."  
Didn't take much to convince her.  
I blink and then the co-star of my most recent wet dream is standing in front of me.  
"You disappeared."  
That was meant to sound _accusing_.  
Not _desperate_.  
"Had to lie low for a while."  
You had to lie low after we beat the fuck out of that pimp and you were in my pants the next day.  
Don't give that to me.  
Somehow I think she got that, either I spoke or she's a telepath.  
My lips are numb and prickling.  
"Why are you here."  
My own voice sounds like a low growl to me. I'm angry at her but I don't want her to flee, don't want her to think I'm angry at her even though I am.  
It is a fickle thing, the human heart.  
"It's too late now," she steps back and I hear the crinkle of dirt against the sole of expensive shoes behind me, a prelude to the massive blow to the head that would follow.

I'm somewhere pitch black and I'm guessing it's not the pantry at midnight. I flutter my eyes open but my let eyelid is caked in, let me guess, my own dried blood.  
It's in my mouth too, at the corner of my cracked lips, a metallic taste running down my tongue as I swallow.  
The migraine explodes right behind my eyes, crawling everywhere at the walls of my skull like a snake.  
I wince but it only makes it worse.  
As what few senses I have available return to me I feel a buzzing soreness in familiar places, and the impeding sentient that there is no happy ending in sight.  
I don't know where I am.  
Though I get the sense those who do have no interest in my well-being, and those who care don't know where I am.  
I feel, with scarring certainty, that the thief doesn't count (anymore) and that no one is going to look for me.  
I'm tired.

This time it's the nausea that wakes me.  
It's so dark out I'm not quite sure whether I'm high or dead or asleep and dreaming.  
It would be fun to tell myself that this time too, she'll 'find me', but I know better.

Once I saw a bird crash into a window.  
It fell into a bush, hanging limp at the branches by its feet, wide-eyed and searching, its little chest heaving rapidly as the blood leakage swelled from the gap in its broken beak.  
I pass out again.

"You shouldn't have followed me."  
It's that same voice that ordered me to come for her, waking me in that same dark room, causing a chill to run run down all over my exposed body.  
I can't answer.  
I can't feel my face.  
I try to get up, prop myself on my elbows, then settle for trying to roll around on my back so that my airways aren't compromised by the puddle of mixed fluids I'm lying in.  
Everything hurts.  
Broken ribs are a bitch.  
And I'm cold.  
Time feels like such a relative thing right now.  
I almost forget about the thief.  
"No, I shouldn't have let myself be drugged by that bitch."  
I feel no qualms about calling things what they are. She was so small and meek, who knew she had it in her to be a backstabber.  
Never been a moral relativist.  
If she's doing her pimp's bidding then she is, by osmosis, one of the bad guys, no matter how sweet she probably is.  
"She was afraid."  
I'm not sure anymore who exactly said this, the thief or I.  
"That's me you're talking about," I reply anyway.  
Not sure if my lips are moving but the void can hear my thoughts.  
I forgot how to be afraid and look where I ended up now.  
But then you wouldn't have met me.  
I wouldn't have met you.  
You wouldn't have had a purpose.  
No, I don't think I would have.  
You're going to die.  
I know.  
I'll live on. I'll remember you.


End file.
